by M. Z. Kelly
She whispered the name, maybe out of fear or reverence, or both. “Satan.”
I touched her shoulder as a tear rolled down her cheek. “This disciple, Chloe, the one who chose Myra, does he have a name?”
I looked into her watery eyes that seemed lost in another world as she said, “Azazel.”
I asked her his name again and she repeated it, spelling out, Azazel. I’d never heard the reference before.
Chloe asked me for a drink of water. I stood up and moved to the counter behind me, pouring the water from a thermos. As I thought about everything that Chloe had said, it seemed likely there were two possibilities. Either the person known as Myra devised an elaborate plan of murder and created a fictional person, someone named Azazel, who she said was a disciple of Satan to cover up her killings. Or there really was someone else behind the scene giving her orders to kill. The second possibility was chilling, especially when I thought about what my mother had said this morning and what Chloe had just told me.
I decided I need to fill in some blanks regarding the others Chloe had been involved with before coming back to this person she called Azazel and the revenge angle that she’d talked about.
I sat across from Chloe, gave her the cup of water, and began again.
“Tell me about your relationship with Henna and Rose. You said that Henna wasn’t very nice, but Rose treated you well.”
“Yes, they are my sisters. At least, they were…” She took a moment, taking a sip of water, and composing herself before continuing. “We were family and did everything together.”
“Myra’s family?”
“Uh huh. We belonged to each other, no matter what.”
“Did you have a name for your family?”
“Myra called us her sisters. She said we’d been chosen by her, just like she was chosen by Azazel.”
Chloe finished her drink and pushed the paper cup across the table to me. I tossed it into the trash and said, “And where did you and your sisters live?”
“In the park, on the streets, sometimes we spent the night at someone’s house that we met. But that wasn’t our real home.”
“You mean it wasn’t your parents’ home?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean our real home, the place where Myra received her instructions and told us what to do, is in the Forbidden World.”
I sat there thinking the discussion couldn’t get much stranger. I glanced over at the two-way mirror where my colleagues were watching. They were probably all frantically scribbling notes, trying to make sense of everything, even though the interview was on videotape.
The story was so compelling that I pressed on, trying to understand the world Chloe was revealing. “Tell me about the Forbidden World. What kind of instructions did Myra receive there?”
“Instructions on who’s next. It’s where Azazel tells Myra who is going to die.”
My breath quickened as my mind conjured up images of a house of horrors where death sentences were handed out. “Where can I find this Forbidden World?”
“You can’t find it unless you are chosen.”
My frustration began to surface. “Then tell me how you, one of the chosen, finds it?”
“I use a key to enter the portal.”
I dragged a hand through my damp, tangled hair. “The portal?”
“Yes, Myra provides the key.”
Maybe this was more of Myra’s elaborate game of mind control. “This portal, where you use your key, where is it located?”
Chloe smiled. “It’s right there.”
I saw her pointing at a corner of the interview room. Then I realized she meant the laptop I’d set on the counter.
“The Internet? Is that where the portal to the Forbidden World is located?”
Chloe nodded. “Yes. Would you like to see it?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The pop, pop of gunfire had crackled behind her, but Myra never once looked back. She’d followed her plan, walking away from the cops who had run past her. In the chaos that followed, she’d left the pier and made her way up the hill to the house where she’d killed the maintenance worker the night before.
Myra had used her field glasses and watched as the pier was locked down and the ambulance arrived. Then she saw Chloe and the female cop. They were on the back of one of those electric carts being driven to the front of the pier. A convoy of police cars had pulled up and they all left together.
As she changes back into her clothing, Myra knows that she must go to the rendezvous point and see if anyone has survived. While she loves her sisters, if they have been killed she will move on alone, following the plan.
Myra pulls her car out of the hillside home’s driveway and heads south along the coast of Malibu. She passes by cars lining the highway where families have walked down to the ocean to sunbathe and picnic. She drives by restaurants and piers as the road snakes along the water’s edge. She continues on until she’s north of Malibu, stopping at a small cove where she watches the boats bobbing in the water.
Myra waits in the car until she sees a boat pull up to the dock. She knows it’s the second of two boats that Rose and Henna had used, leaving one docked off shore in case of trouble.
In a moment, she sees Rose walking alone up from the dock.
“Henna?” Myra asks as Rose gets in the car.
“She was killed in the shoot-out. The female cop jumped in the water, saved Chloe.” Rose’s blue eyes sweep down and away from Myra. “I’m sorry, we failed you.”
Myra smiles, brings a hand up and slaps Rose. “I need you focused, not feeling sorry about your failings. Do not let me down again.”
Rose nods. A tear slips down her cheek.
The two women leave the cove and head up Pacific Coast Highway. Half an hour later they pull into the long driveway of an estate that overlooks the ocean. A feeling of warmth washes over Myra as she walks to the front door.
This is home—Azazel’s home. While she’s never mentioned this place to her sisters or brought them here before, Myra has spent many nights in the home, making love, and then making plans with her beloved. She knows that here she can find out if Azazel has left instructions for her.
While Rose unpacks the car, Myra moves inside the house. She pauses for a moment, taking in the expansive view of the ocean, before moving into the library and turning on the computer. She checks her e-mails. A spark of excitement moves through her. She makes a few keystrokes, opening the message from Azazel.
Cover all tracks. Game to resume with the new players. Portal to reopen in twenty-four hours.
Together again soon, Azazel
Myra deletes the e-mail and walks outside to the deck. She takes in the view of the water. The day is clear and cool. In the distance, the blue ocean shimmers like a diamond in the afternoon sunlight.
She understands Azazel’s reference to the new players—they’re the cops. She isn’t happy about it, but she knows that Azazel craves the idea of outsmarting the police. The Predators will also be watching closely now. When Azazel opens the portal again, everything will change. No mistakes will be permitted. This is a game of death and she must win. It’s the only way she can be with her lover again, with Azazel.
From where she stands, Myra lets her dark eyes sweep over the endless horizon. An image forms as she glances down at the ocean. It’s an image of the woman, the female cop who killed her sister and has taken Chloe. She watches as the image is swallowed up, the woman drowning in a sea of blood that spreads across the water as far as she can see.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I brought my laptop over to the interview table. I then moved my chair next to Chloe so that we could both see the screen.
I opened my Internet browser. “Okay, let’s enter the portal to the Forbidden World.”
She made several keystrokes. The screen faded to black. I thought she’d crashed whatever site she’d tried to access, but then saw the words appear on the screen:
GAMEOVER
Chloe clicked on the screen several times. Nothing happened.
“I don’t understand,” she said, glancing up at me. “The screen is frozen. Myra must have stopped the game.”
At my urging, she tried the sequence of keystrokes a couple more times. Each time the same message came up and we couldn’t access any screens or information.
I closed the computer, returned the laptop to the corner of the room, and moved my chair back across from Chloe. I was sure that behind the glass, the other cops, and probably a few feds, were already analyzing the keystrokes trying to find a way into the site.
I took a seat again and said, “If we’d been able to enter the portal to the Forbidden World, tell me what we would have seen.”
“When Myra was saved and chosen to take revenge The Forbidden World was created. Myra called it Azazel’s secret domain.”
“What does it look like?”
“Sometimes there’s a forest or a castle. Once there was even an island where Myra got her instructions.”
“You mean from Azazel?”
Chloe nodded. She looked relieved that she’d finally been able to tell someone about this secret world. Despite what she’d said I still had my concerns that it might all be an elaborate hoax.
“Tell me about Azazel, Chloe. What does he look like?”
“I don’t know. Only Myra is allowed to see him. He is her beloved and someday they will marry.”
“Did Myra tell you that?”
She nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek. “We were supposed to be her bridesmaids. Now Henna is gone and…” She brushed the water from her eyes.
After I gave her a moment I decided it was time to move on, discuss the murders.
“Let’s talk about some specific things, Chloe. There was a shooting a couple of days ago. The manager of the celebrity known as Karma was killed. Her name was Harriett Nordquist. Were you involved in what happened to her?”
She shook her head. “All I know is that Myra said she met Azazel in the Forbidden World. He told her she needed to take care of something before we met her later that night.” Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. “That’s when she told us it was the first murder he decided on.”
“Where were you when she said this?”
“On a road in the hills above Hollywood. I was with Henna and Rose.”
“And what happened from there?”
“We went to Karma’s fiancé’s house.” Chloe’s gaze drifted away and she seemed to turn inward. “Love Dawg’s house.”
“Were you there when he was killed?”
Chloe wrapped her arms around herself, tears brimming in her eyes again. “I couldn’t do it, even though I was chosen by Myra and had been in his house, crawling through the bedrooms, practicing.” Her eyes met me again, tears flowing. “I ran out of the room.”
“Where did you go?”
“Rose and Henna came after me. They were going to kill me, but I hid and eventually got away.”
“Is that when you called your mother and told her you wanted to come home?”
She nodded. “I called her the next day. Someone was supposed to meet me on the pier.” Chloe paused, sobs racking her body again. Finally she regained some control, looked up at me and asked, “My mom. Can I see her now?”
“Just one more question. These murders, the killings of Karma’s manager and her fiancé. Do you know why they were chosen to die?”
Chloe brushed her tears away. “Revenge. All I know is that Myra said it was the revenge Azazel demanded. The killings won’t stop until the revenge is complete.”
“Revenge for what? Did Karma do something to Myra?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” After another sigh the question I dreaded came one more time. “Can I see my mother?”
I reached out and took her hands. Her pleading eyes held on mine. She reminded me of a lost child, searching for someone who can never be found again.
“I’m sorry, Chloe. Your mother is gone.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After I finished my interview with Chloe Bryant at HSS, Pearl agreed to give me a ride back to Santa Monica to get my car. By the time we got to the ocean, the sun had already set, and I was exhausted.
We’d gotten a lot of information about Myra, her cult, and what Chloe had described as an Internet game of murder, but the case had taken on layers of complexity that made me feel like we were a long way from breaking it.
Late in the day, the local police in Santa Monica informed us that the body of a man was found at a house overlooking the pier. His throat had been slashed and his clothing removed. When they determined he was a pier maintenance worker some of the taskforce members had been dispatched to pour over the scene.
“Have you ever heard of the name, Azazel?” I asked Pearl.
“We did an Internet search while you interviewed Chloe. The name was given to one of the earliest manifestations of a creature who was supposedly a god of the darkness or evil. It goes pretty far back in antiquity.”
“Hearing Chloe’s story makes me realize there’s a whole lot more to this case than we’d ever imagined.”
Pearl nodded. “Skully’s planning on calling a meeting of the joint taskforce with the feds tomorrow. A guy named, Byron Ellington is going to head up things on the FBI side. Maybe it will help.”
“I haven’t had the best of luck working with the feds…” I chuckled. “…or Skully, for that matter.”
Pearl’s silver hair reflected in the headlights of the oncoming cars as he turned into the parking lot near the pier. “Skully already had five years on the job when I joined the force. Rumor had it that his wife ran off with a plumber. The guy was never right after that.”
“Maybe that explains his hatred of women.” Despite my fatigue I felt too keyed up to sleep. “You interested in a nightcap, Pearl? My treat.”
“I think I’ll pass. Tonight, I’m feeling my age. I’m going home, getting into my PJ’s, and trying to forget about the world for about eight hours.” He smiled. “I suggest you try and do the same.”
I knew that Pearl was right, but I also knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep given everything that had happened. I drove out of the parking lot as my phone rang. It was Natalie.
“Could you do me and Mo a big favor and give us a ride home from Voodoo Mama,” Natalie asked. “Mo’s Vespa’s in the shop.”
I’d almost forgotten about Natalie taking a job at the Hollywood goth-shop. She didn’t drive due to her failure to pass the DMV driving test. Since I knew my insomnia would be in high gear, I decided to take the opportunity to see what her new job was all about.
“I’m leaving Santa Monica now,” I explained. I can be there in about half an hour.”
I found Voodoo Mama on Melrose, less than ten minutes from my apartment. The shop was dark, except for blue and red neon lights shining dimly from the storefront.
I stopped, examining the display windows that illuminated various costumes posed on some zombie-looking mannequins. The brand names included something called, Murderdoll, Trinity, and Morpheus.
A cloud of incense hit me when I opened the door. The store was almost empty, except for three or four customers milling about.
One of the patrons, a thin young man who looked like a cross between Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow and Alice Cooper, turned to me and said, “Cop in the shop.”
A woman came over. In an English accent, she said to me, “Fraid you’re sticking out like a happy stick in a cathouse.”
“Natalie?” I said, at the same time realizing that my plastic ID badge was still pinned to my shirt. I removed the badge and stepped back to take in her outfit.
My blonde, girl next door, friend had been transformed into a dark-haired woman dressed in a red and black lace tutu, a black satin top, and black opera gloves. She had enough black makeup on to make it look like she worked a rack at Jiffy Lube. Despite the getup, Natalie was beautiful in a dominatrix sort of way.
“Name’s, Lo
lita,” she said, lowering her voice. She pouted and motioned to the obnoxious customer. “Got me a whip and a chair if this poser needs a lesson.”
We both turned and saw the Depp-Cooper freak standing a couple of feet away from us, now with his hands on his hips. “You gonna arrest me or what?” he demanded. “I planned on clearing the traffic warrants tomorrow.”
I brushed a hand through my frizzy hair and sighed. Why don’t crooks have the common sense to hide out when they’re supposed to?
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll let you go if you promise to take your bony-freak ass out on the street, walk home, and have your mother tuck you into bed for the night.”
“You didn’t have to insult me,” the young man said, breaking into tears and scurrying out the door.
Natalie shrugged. “High maintenance twinks. They’re the worst.”
I heard a voice behind the counter say, “You ladies gonna just stand there and ignore the Big Mama?”
I turned and saw Mo standing next to a cash register. She had on a tight red bustier that looked like it could launch the girls into a high earth orbit. The leather pants, streaked red and pink hair, all seemed an afterthought given the breast sling-shot on her upper torso.
“I didn’t know you’d also signed on for extra work?” I said.
“I’m the enforcer,” Mo explained. “These vampire mutants try and bite baby sis, I jam a stick in their mouths.”
I had no doubt that Mo meant what she said.
Natalie said to Mo, “I’m gonna take Kate back to meet with Prissy for a moment if you’ll mind the freaks.”
Mo shrugged and pulled a magazine from beneath the counter. “Take your time.”
Natalie led me past a couple of dark curtains until we were in the back of the store where I saw there were boxes, racks of clothing, and a couple of display mannequins that the store owner was working on.
“This is Priscilla Pettibone,” Natalie said by way of introduction.
Priscilla stood. I found myself looking up into the grinning face of a six foot-five inch woman. At least, I thought it was a woman. She or he had the flat, but earnest face of a dog I once knew that always jumped on me, as if to say, “Like me, please!”